Lucky Seven
by LittleKnux2008
Summary: Six men in Elizabeth’s life that don’t matter now, and one that does.


**Title: **Lucky Seven  
**Summary: **Six men in Elizabeth's life that don't matter now, and one that does.  
**Author's Note: **Lots of spoilers, so take the time to look at the list! I hope you guys enjoy. (You'd better; I was up until four on a school night finishing it :D)  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Elizabeth Weir, Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Simon, President Hayes, Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, or any of the other characters affiliated with "Stargate: SG-1" or "Stargate: Atlantis." Ryan and Ricky (and, for the most part, Mike) are products of my sleep-deprived imagination.  
**Spoilers: **From Atlantis: "Rising", "The Siege", "The Long Goodbye", "Misbegotten", "The Real World", spoilers for upcoming episode "Sunday", but if you haven't heard them it's unlikely that you'd pick them out. From SG-1: "The Lost City", "New Order". _Safely, all aired episodes of Atlantis and up to S8 of SG-1._

**I.**

Elizabeth Weir was fifteen when she got her first kiss. Sure, she'd received a few quick pecks on the lips before that time, but it was in her sophomore year in high school that she received her first _real _kiss. She still remembered the moment clearly, though it had since been colored with nostalgia and age.

It was in the early reaches of autumn, when the leaves were brilliant shades of red, orange and green. The sun had since disappeared beyond the horizon, and she was arm-in-arm with her boyfriend, walking down the paved street that led to her two-story, upper-class home. Tonight, the crisp air was filled with the sweet, flirty aroma of potential and chemistry for the newfound couple. She was a few steps ahead of him, throaty laughter filling the air, skirt dancing against her knees, when he spontaneously grasped her hand and pulled her to him gently before kissing her. The shock wore off quickly, and she let her eyes fall shut, savoring the feeling of his warm, full lips against hers.

Ryan, the aforementioned boyfriend, still had a special place in her heart as the first boy she'd loved. With his clear blue eyes, blonde hair, and handsome smile, she'd been proud to be the girl on his arm at every school function. He was a gifted football player, and though that fact alone sent his popularity skyrocketing, he never fell into the ego that surrounded it. Elizabeth, neither a cheerleader nor blonde and size zero, felt a pang of jealousy at the pretty girls who came up to him in the halls and talked to him, batting their long lashes suggestively. But Ryan always put them down without fail; replying with a friendly thanks followed by a timely introduction to his "beautiful girlfriend, Elizabeth." Separately, the two ran in different social circles, but they got along with each others' friends. It was the sort of compatibility that made a relationship last.

They were together for over two years – up until the summer after senior year. The two would be hundreds of miles away come August. It was naïve to think they could make it work, and they knew better. That night, while the two were lying on his bed, the television in front of them flickering, Elizabeth had looked up at him and told him firmly that she wanted him to be her first. It was a decision she didn't regret, even when she tenderly kissed him goodbye three days later.

Years later, as a sophomore in college, Elizabeth was informed that Ryan had since moved on to an old friend she'd lost touch with upon entering college. She was pleasantly surprised to find no pangs of jealousy within her, only happiness for him and hopes for the new couple.

**II.**

Even at the most prestigious of colleges, there are the wild students. Elizabeth's natural ability to be friends with a wide scope of people led her to the circle of the drinking and partying quickly, even more so as a tall, thin, pretty freshman. For a long time she attended their parties, grateful to socialize without having to browse the newspaper first, but left the alcohol untouched.

Most girls went through their phase of disagreement with their parents in their early teens, but Elizabeth entered it in her last two years as a teenager. They seemed to be attacking her decisions at every turn, beating their rules into her supposed "independent" life, and she resented it. She resented the "priss" and "goody-goody" comments she heard from fellow students even more, and it led her to pick up her first bottle, to both her surprise and Ricky's. Ricky was her strongest link to this new world so far removed from her refined dormitory, a friend who had always eyed her with something more than companionship.

Elizabeth was sure that she didn't love anyone or anything during that time in her life. It was simply lust – but she didn't know whether she had lusted after Ricky or the rebellious lifestyle he led. Ricky himself was attractive in a way her parents would have loathed, had she ever brought him home – he was the epitome of _rugged_, with a five o'clock shadow that was twenty-four hours a day, toned muscles, a chiseled jaw, ragged clothes, and a loud, sometimes obnoxious, personality.

The first drink had been hot against her tongue, a path burning down her throat and into her stomach. But it tasted good, leaving a citrus aftertaste in her mouth, and she took another generous sip. Things seemed clearer and sharper after she set the empty bottle on a nearby table, though she knew they weren't. But that didn't matter – it _felt _like they were, and she'd happily engage in that fantasy.

Ricky had pressed the second into her hand with a conspiratorial grin that told her that he didn't miss her transgression. She felt her stomach flutter – from the beer or his touch, she was unsure. But she clinked her glass with his just the same, lifting it to her lips and savoring the heat in her mouth.

Later that night, she was left with Ricky and about ten of his friends. Elizabeth remembered feeling pride swell within her as Ricky told her how well she was handling the alcohol – especially for a girl her size. With a small smile, she finished off her sixth beer.

Truthfully, it felt like she was swimming in quicksand. Her mind still felt sharp and rational, even if her restrictions had faded from solid lines to fuzzy shapes. From experience, she knew she couldn't walk much without assistance, and she was content to stay on the couch, concentrating on her swirling stomach to calm down. _My last beer_, she told herself as she put it down. It clanked hollowly against the wooden coffee table.

"You okay, Liz?" Ricky had asked, his speech slow and slightly slurred. Elizabeth smiled back at him. She realized then that his arm was around her shoulders. It was nice, but a quick glance around the room made discomfort bite at her. The remaining people had either paired off, lips locked and clothing being pushed aside, or passed out.

Ricky was attractive, and she wouldn't deny that her heart was pounding a little faster from the proximity between them. She wanted to kiss him, but she wondered, after seeing the others, what was expected of her. With a brave grin, she gestured to his half-finished beer and told him she would finish it.

Combined with her subconscious desire to get back at her parents and everyone who had dared to call her a "goody-goody", the alcohol created a sense of confidence that she didn't have. Elizabeth leaned forward and kissed him. They were drunk and their first kiss was slipshod and slovenly, but it quickly led farther.

Elizabeth awoke in his bed the next morning an hour after she usually woke herself up, but in time enough to grab a shuttle back to her dormitory and change before going to class. She scribbled a quick, breezy note and left it on Ricky's nightstand, sending a quick glance back to his sleeping form as she left. When she got to her dormitory, she quickly swallowed two Tylenol and drank a full bottle of water while eating and changing. She grabbed another along with her books when she left for class, and was gleeful when the worst symptom of a hangover she received was a dull, distant pounding in the back of her head during Statistics.

Two days later, she got another invite from Ricky, this time with thanks for the "wonderful night" they'd shared before. She went, and went, and continued to go to his parties. The alcohol made everything ten times more. She laughed harder and cried harder. It seemed like a fair trade.

It took only one bad day to convince her of the nagging feelings that had bothered her for months. Her grades were slowly going down, professors were hovering, her parents were worried, and her steadfast, rule-following friends were giving her ultimatums and telling her to leave this rut. After taking three hours to review for her Child Psychology class, she'd gone to Ricky's once more. She was over four hours late when she got to his place, and it was approaching three in the morning.

The usual scene greeted her eyes, and the couple groping on the couch suddenly seemed completely and utterly pathetic. Elizabeth grabbed a beer from a nearby cooler and continued walking about the oversized apartment, looking for Ricky and trying to shake her disgust. When she found him, her bottle stopped halfway to her lips. There he was, lying in his bed, the sheets just barely covering his naked body. A blonde-haired girl was resting her head on his chest, and Elizabeth didn't need to wait for an explanation to know what had happened.

Somehow in her mind, their friendship had turned into a relationship. But as she left the building, tears streaming down her face, she knew the fault was on her for this one. They were friends who got drunk and had sex. She had no claim on him, and this just proved it. Elizabeth mourned her loss for four days before formally declining Ricky's next invitation, telling him that she needed to focus on her studies now. The invitations dwindled and eventually stopped.

Elizabeth steadily ignored the curious stares when she adamantly refused to touch alcohol until her twenty-first birthday; and a small amount even then. She always declined politely, followed by a private, morose smile that clearly said she'd already learned her lesson.

**III.**

Elizabeth had never thought she'd meet the President. But she did – and he had changed her life completely. She spread her fingers on the mahogany desk and looked around the office. President Hayes had appointed her – _her_, who had as much experience in running military operations as, she didn't know, say, Wayne Brady – in charge of the SGC; an organization that regularly explored different _planets. _She had yet to explore Canada, and she was supposed to run this thing? She took a calming breath and continued her observation of the room, catching the flash of uniform through the glass window as SG-1 entered the briefing room. Elizabeth put a firm smile on her face and told herself she would be fine; which turned out to be horribly and completely wrong.

Colonel O'Neill – prized gem of the SGC – was inflicted with an alien virus, and she held his life in her hands. It would've been easier, had Vice President Kinsey not been attempting to make her his political puppet. She'd watched the bickering between them and realized that she wasn't a negotiator anymore. Now, she had to choose a side. It'd been an easy choice, telling SG-1 to do what they needed, but she'd still winced at Kinsey's angry outburst after the briefing.

Things only got harder from then on. Decisions were even more difficult, but that she could handle. It was the loneliness that ate at her; the constant want for a companion. But the personnel clearly missed General Hammond (_It's not my fault he's gone_, she desperately wanted to tell them) and viewed her as his replacement, and nothing more.

It was Doctor Daniel Jackson who reached out to her first. They'd heard of each other, of course – she'd spent hours reading about his adventures – and had a healthy dose of respect between them, but there had been nothing more until he showed up at her office door one day. She'd looked up from her files and gestured for him to come in, and he'd asked her to lunch, telling her she'd go mad if she stayed in that office all day. It was a casual, friendly invitation, and Elizabeth had latched onto it like a lifeline. Soon, the lunches became a part of routine, and she found herself asking his opinion on things; letting him help her make decisions. It took such a load off of her shoulders that she was still, to this day, grateful for.

Peril and worry had a way of bringing people together. She stayed up with him on late nights, running for coffee and helping him with linguistics as much as she could, keeping him awake and focused when she couldn't. When Daniel landed himself in the infirmary, she brought her paperwork to the chair beside his bed and sat there until he woke up and the rest of SG-1 arrived to greet him.

Elizabeth couldn't pinpoint when things changed. Suddenly when she hugged him goodnight, it felt like more than a friendly hug, her hands lingering. She felt her heart beating faster when he reached around her to grab something, when their eyes met at briefings… Sexual tension quickly found itself in every crevice of their friendship, and she knew he felt it too.

It culminated on one particularly long night in December. They'd been up since the morning, setting to work on translating the text found on several ruins that SG-10 was rumored to have been surveying just before their disappearance. Elizabeth had declared a five minute break when she saw him take off his glasses and rub his eyes tiredly with the other hand. He smiled gratefully when she handed him a steaming mug of coffee and sat down beside him, but the grateful grin quickly faded from his face.

"I don't know if I can get them back," he said softly after a moment, staring at something and nothing behind her. Elizabeth felt her heart soften, and she squeezed his shoulder gently. She told him that they'd find something soon – and if not, SG-10 was more than capable of handling themselves. His emotions brought out the guilt within her that she'd been pushing away all night. She'd been the one to order them to go to the planet; _she _was responsible for what happened to them. As if reading her thoughts, Daniel's eyes moved to hers.

From the first day they had met, they'd had this silent communication flowing strongly between them. That look – that one look – comforted her more than a thousand words would have. Still, he cupped her face in one hand and told her firmly, "We're going to find them."

She longed for him to kiss her, and for a fleeting moment she thought he was going to, but then a shrill ring cut through the air. Daniel was grabbing the receiver off the cradle in no time, hanging on every word and waiting for a breakthrough. His shoulders slumped soon enough, and Elizabeth knew it wasn't good news. She turned back to the papers scattered all over the floor, and picked up the nearest one to her, translating it as Daniel spoke into the phone.

That was when she found it; the little clue that brought SG-10 home safe. Elizabeth ran it through her mind over and over until she was sure. "Daniel!" she stood and rushed over to him, her finger pointing toward the birdlike symbol. He grasped the edge of the printout, his brow furrowed, hope in his eyes.

They were sure to double- and triple-check, but celebration was quick on the heels of that. She let out a cry of joy, and hugged Daniel tightly. Relief flooded every inch of her, and she knew Daniel felt the same. It was far from out of place when Daniel's lips found her own. Elizabeth's heart leapt against her ribcage and she kissed him back, but it was a quick celebration among many others. Soon they were hugging again, letting out small little triumphant whoops of joy before Elizabeth phoned the rest of SG-1 and told them to get suited up to bring SG-10 back.

The kiss between them didn't come up again, but in the end, it was just a nice little memory to store in the back of her mind. She was soon packing up her bags to head for another important negotiation, leaving the SGC in Brigadier General O'Neill's capable hands. There was a small pang of sadness in her chest when she hugged Daniel goodbye, but as Cheyenne Mountain disappeared in her rearview mirror, she knew that she hadn't loved him; hadn't been on the way to loving him. They were just friends; friends whose path had dallied with romance for one brief second in time.

**IV.**

Elizabeth met the man she was sure she was going to marry while negotiating in North Africa. She was touring the country extensively to get a better idea of it when she came upon a small clinic in the middle of a poor, deprived town. The clinic was run by doctors and nurses who volunteered their own time and money, and she'd taken care to meet each and every one of them. The clean-cut American man that shook her hand with such gentleness immediately garnered her attention. She found herself thinking about him often in the days following their meeting. By some way of destiny, clinics like that become the center of the negotiations. For several weeks, she exchanged letters with Dr. Simon Wallace; far more than she needed to. Her heart trilled with excitement when she found out that they lived but an hour apart back in the States. Still, her schedule was busy and he was so far away from her base in Kinshasa that she only got to see him twice in the four months that followed.

She returned home from Africa with a significant victory under her belt, but somehow meeting Simon seemed like an even greater accomplishment. He was such a kind, caring soul; someone solid and easy to read. It'd been a long time since she'd had that clarity, and that was what she needed now. They met for several dates in the weeks after he came back to the States. It felt as if she'd known him her entire life; as if he'd been by her side all of this time.

Simon met her parents a month after they'd made things official between them. Elizabeth had spoken with them before the meeting and told them how much Simon meant to her. She needn't have bothered with the explanation: he was the type of man her parents had always wanted for her. It didn't take long before her mother was giddily pressuring him to call her "Mom."

But when you're in a relationship with someone so long, it's inevitable that it's marked with some bad times. Not just in the relationship, either – but from the outside world. They had their fair share of both, but the first major event occurred about two months later. Elizabeth's father was in a car accident. His car had been struck by a drunk driver as he came home from his poker night with his friends, a weekly ritual that had gone uninterrupted for twenty years.

Elizabeth had received a call from her hysterical mother at two in the morning, just as she was about to clamber out of Simon's bed and head back to her own apartment. Her mother's voice broke as she told her that she and her father were on their way to the hospital. Elizabeth had thrown on a pair of jeans and headed to the door to leave, only to find Simon standing there waiting, keys in hand. A quick, grateful smile was all the thanks she had within her at the moment, and Simon understood.

By the time they got to the hospital, over an hour away, her father was dead. Elizabeth had rushed ahead of Simon and into the waiting room, spotting her mother's frail body in one of the black seats against the far wall. She'd rushed over to the sobbing woman, and it was then that she'd heard the news.

Elizabeth had been closer to her father than anyone else, and his death crushed her. Simon hadn't judged her emotions or told her any of the stale, overused sayings she found littering her day. He held her as she cried and comforted her when he could. It was then that she knew she truly loved him.

Simon waited until her grief had passed to ask her to move in with him, and she accepted gratefully. They had been well on their way to engagement when she'd received another call from the President; another change about to rock her world. She listened to his enthused voice over the phone while she watched Simon's rising and falling chest beside her. He slept through her entire phone call with President Hayes, and she couldn't help but be happy he did – words like _classified, national security_, and _secured line _sealed her lips of any answers he might want from her.

President Hayes was offering her the chance to head a research team in Antarctica, a team that may eventually lead them to the Lost City. She felt excitement buzzing about her stomach, but guilt weighed heavily on her head when her eyes returned to Simon. There was no question about it: it was Simon, this blissful life, or the tantalizing opportunity on the other end of the phone. Elizabeth politely told the President that she would think on it, and slid back under the covers, but even being with Simon, skin touching skin, didn't alleviate her guilt.

For a long time, she wondered why she felt so guilty for being offered this job. It wasn't until much later that she realized why: as soon as she heard President Hayes' voice on the other line, she was sold. But she loved Simon so much; too much to bear leaving him. She left for weeks at a time for the research job, but when they finally found the address to Atlantis, it was a one way trip. There was no returning every few weeks. Elizabeth would be gone for – maybe – forever. She couldn't say goodbye to him, not in person, so she left a tape; a measly tape to say goodbye to him, because she was too cowardly to do it in person.

She prayed that he would eventually understand, just like he had all of those years. That he would move on, just like she had, and that one day, when their paths crossed again, they could be friends.

**V.**

Elizabeth remembered a feeling like this one from junior high. It was the sort of emotion the shy, meek girl had often had among her more outgoing and gregarious friends; feeling lost and controlled when they set their sights on something, because she couldn't change their minds. The memory lulled through her mind, but she forced herself to focus on her current situation, something far more than childhood dominance.

An alien entity named Phebus had taken control of her body. Panic had smothered her for the first few minutes as she tried to breathe but realized she couldn't. She still wasn't used to the notion hours later, but there were bigger fish to fry.

Her friends, her darling friends that were within her reach and untouchable at the same time, thought that she was _sharing _her body. Elizabeth longed to ruin Phebus's clever and frighteningly accurate impersonation of her, but she couldn't. She couldn't tell them that it wasn't Elizabeth Weir telling them to calm down; it was just Phebus pretending.

A few hours ago, lying in the infirmary bed, she had realized something important. The connection between them, whatever it was, wasn't one-sided. There were two consciousnesses in one body – one suppressed, one dominant – and Elizabeth could _feel _Phebus. It was an indescribable feeling that quickly proved its tactical use as the other inhabitant of her body continued to manipulate her friends.

As Phebus told John, Rodney, and the others of Thalen, her supposed husband, Elizabeth knew she was lying. She felt the anger and hatred directed toward Thalen, and immediately understood what was going on.

Not that she could do much about it. But when her eyes – no, Phebus's eyes – settled on Rodney, her heart leapt into her throat. Phebus wanted Thalen gone, and that meant she wanted him transferred into an easy target: Rodney, her precious Rodney.

Elizabeth fought the fright down and it occurred to her that, if she could feel what Phebus was feeling, the situation could be vice versa. She concentrated her efforts on feeling relieved. _Rodney can handle himself in a situation, _she told herself, _Phebus will die before she gets the chance to kill him._

There was a warm, prickling feeling covering her, and then Phebus's eyes turned toward John. It had worked. Immediately, Elizabeth projected a feeling of worry, and the same tingly sensation occurred once more before Phebus – pretending to be Elizabeth – declared that she wanted John to store Thalen's consciousness. Elizabeth was counting on John – and Thalen – to stay alive for as long as it took for these consciousnesses to wear off.

She saw the look Rodney sent her way – slightly miffed, a little suspicious – and prayed that he would notice; that he would say something. But he just shook his head and looked away.

But now, she was sitting in a wheelchair, feeling mortified and guilty as she watched Thalen's consciousness transfer into John's body. Phebus's heart – or was it her own? – pounded against her ribs. The light surrounding John disappeared, and Carson moved to rush forward, but Phebus stopped him.

"Give him a moment."

It was Elizabeth's voice, but she hadn't said the words. She felt like she was floating in a giant span of space, unable to do anything but hang in suspension.

John's eyes snapped open, his head jerking up. _Thalen. _The name hissed through her subconscious, and Elizabeth nearly flinched at the venom contained within it.

"Thalen, it's me," Phebus spoke again, standing from the wheelchair. John's eyes, so warm and mischievous most of the time, seemed cold and unusual now.

"Phebus," Thalen's voice was carefully neutral. Elizabeth wondered if John had discovered the ruse yet; was trying to scream from the inside as she had.

"These people recovered our pods, Thalen. They've consented…to give me one last chance to say goodbye to my _husband._" The infliction on "husband" was light, but Thalen did not miss it, eyes snapping toward Phebus and Elizabeth.

That was about when the weirdest romantic situation Elizabeth had ever been in took place. Phebus walked toward Thalen, and no matter how hard Elizabeth commanded her body to _stop_ moving and turn around, it didn't listen. Her hands wrapped around Thalen's face and Phebus kissed him deeply.

John's lips were warm and soft as Thalen responded to the ploy, and Elizabeth felt discomfort abound in her stomach. She could _feel _the kiss, feel it as if it was she and John, not Thalen and Phebus, but she didn't control it; couldn't control it. She briefly wondered what John was thinking when Phebus pulled away. Relief swamped through her, even as she told herself that this would be one long report.

_Let's just get out of this thing alive, first, _she told herself, listening as Phebus questioned her friends.

Nearly five minutes later, Phebus and Thalen had guns in their hands and were attempting to assassinate each other, while John and Elizabeth desperately clamored to regain control of their respective bodies.

As Elizabeth joked with John later, when her general embarrassment over the whole thing had dissipated, it had been a better ending than many of her relationships.

**VI.**

Elizabeth didn't date people working under her. It was a self-enforced rule that she had assumed along with leadership of Atlantis. That didn't mean she didn't have _feelings _for any of them – she wasn't dead. The city was a mishmash of people. Have a soft spot for chocolate-eyed Italians? Lieutenant Rizzoli was newly single. Enamored with all-American, athletic types? Major Lorne was blissfully unattached. Every single trait Elizabeth looked for was easy to find – and that made it impossible _not _to have feelings for some of her coworkers.

But she never acted on them. She may let everyone else date amongst each other – as long as it didn't interfere with their job – but she herself never did. Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder what havoc it would cause. She worried about her image in everyone else's minds – but more so, what Woolsey, her ever-present watchdog from the I.O.A., would think about it.

She'd caved in an hour ago when Michael Branton had strolled into her office. He'd leaned up against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest, observing her almost manic attempt to catch up on paperwork.

"You need a break," he told her, jerking her out of her reverie. She looked up and smiled when she saw him. He was one of the new scientists that had just come on the third shipment of personnel from Earth, but he had made friends quickly. He had a _way _about him – his sense of humor, his quirks, the way he took control of social situations – facilitated by his good looks.

Elizabeth studied his square jaw and tousled blonde hair for a long moment before replying, "Doctor Branton, I'm sorry, but I –"

"Everybody needs to eat," he interrupted smoothly, cutting her off before she could decline with a polite "I'm busy." They both knew she was only going to reject it because of her status in Atlantis, but Elizabeth refused to say it. "There's nothing wrong with lunch between coworkers," Michael prodded onward, throwing in a small wink to let her know that under no circumstances was his interest in her dissolved. His confidence and playfulness made her heart give a little tumble, and she found herself giving in to a lunch date.

Their conversation remained friendly and light while they ate, and Elizabeth found herself genuinely enjoying herself. Her laughter at one of his jokes had faded, and an awkward silence descended. Feeling the need to say something, she blurted, "How's work going?" They'd stayed away from the topic for most of lunch, but those were the first words to her lips.

"It's going well," Michael replied with a bright, easy smile. "A little challenging, but that's always the best part. Not to brownnose or anything, but I am _so _glad I came here. Everyone's brilliant – the best of the best, I guess – and kind…" he trailed off, taking a bite of his hamburger.

Something in his response made Elizabeth uneasy, and she couldn't figure out why. It took her a full five minutes before she realized that she'd been looking at Michael as if he was a different blue-eyed, short-haired scientist. That thought made her uneasy, and she pushed her mashed potatoes around on her tray, as if the fluffy substance would provide the answers for her. Michael was funny, attractive, and kind. Sure, he had flaws, but none that were so blatantly and appallingly obvious. Yet, all she could think of right now – while on a _date _with Michael – was that he wasn't one Rodney McKay; Rodney McKay, with his brash and insensitive remarks overlaying a softer, bruised interior.

"Something wrong?" Michael questioned, tilting his head to the side.

Elizabeth looked up, a flush covering her face as her heart skipped a beat. Quickly, she reminded herself that Michael couldn't know what was running through her mind, and began to formulate a placid, neutral reply. Just as she opened her mouth, a loud alarm blared over the communication system.

"This is Major Lorne. I am requesting that everyone stay where you are right _now. _I repeat, do _not _move from your current position," Lorne's voice boomed over the speaker. Panic bloomed quickly in the mess, and Elizabeth activated her radio.

"Major, what's going on?" she questioned, already half out of her chair. She shot a quick, pained look toward Michael before standing up and walking toward the cafeteria doors, ignoring the questioning stares directed to her.

"There's been an explosion, ma'am. On the West Pier – we've got experiments running there and an exercise room for Marines. I've got Zelenka finding out what scientists were there at the time of the blast – around 1345 – and I'm working on the Marine roster here. Beckett is already on his way to the Pier with medical relief and Sheppard…" Lorne hesitated. "Well, I don't know exactly what he's doing. He just bolted out of here."

Elizabeth stopped as she reached the door, her hand still settled on her earpiece.

"This is Sheppard," a new voice broke in on their conversation.

"Where are you, John?" Elizabeth questioned quickly.

He evaded the question skillfully. "Permission to take a Jumper and some Marines to look for survivors?"

"Permission granted," Elizabeth said quickly. She rubbed her hands together nervously, a feeling of uselessness creeping up on her.

"Good. ETA five minutes." Elizabeth half-smiled at this report. It took ten minutes to get from the Jumper Bay to the West Pier – John must've left as soon as he heard the news.

"Ma'am, there's nothing you can do for now," Lorne said. "I'd suggest finishing up lunch and then meeting us in the control room. It's going to be a long night."

"Elizabeth," Radek's voice quickly succeeded Lorne's. "I've got the list of scientists on the Pier right here."

"How many?" Elizabeth questioned. Her eyes roamed over the frightened mess crowd before settling on Michael. His eyes were locked on hers, concern and curiosity clear.

"Six."

Elizabeth let out a long sigh. Six good people. She sent up a silent prayer to someone – _anyone _– that some of them hadn't been at the brunt of the blast; that some of them would survive.

"Elizabeth," Radek faltered. "There may be seven."

"What do you mean?" she questioned, and already her heart was pounding against her ribs.

"Rodney left the lab to go to the Pier about twenty minutes before the blast went off."

That was just enough time to walk to the Pier. Her heart was somewhere in the vicinity of the floor by now, and she clutched the earpiece tightly. "Have you heard –"

"Nothing," Radek answered, "we have heard nothing."

Elizabeth took a few deep, calming breaths. Rodney would be okay – he was resourceful. Worry edged at her, but she realized quickly that Lorne had been right – she couldn't do anything more from here. Again, she looked toward Michael. She could sit back down and continue their date. But concern for Rodney and the others pressed in on her, and she waved apologetically toward Michael before turning and leaving the mess hall.

It was their first and last date.

**VII.**

Elizabeth had retreated to the safe haven of her office just an hour ago, and no work had been touched since. She couldn't bring herself to even give a passing thought toward it. Her mind was consumed with other matters, her hands clutching her father's pocket watch. She looked down and realized that her knuckles had turned white, and fought to loosen her grip.

_Loosen her grip_. She shuddered involuntarily as she clasped her hands together. Just hours ago, she'd been clutching on to a railing for dear life, her beloved ocean stretching out beneath her toes, reaching toward her, trying to drag her into its watery depths.

Earlier that day, after some bad news about some trading partners they desperately needed, Elizabeth had stood and exited the briefing room, heading for a moment of solace on her balcony. John had followed her out, aiming to console his companion, but had only been at the door when it happened.

Neither of them had time to notice the faint beeping before the explosion beneath the balcony sent the platform swinging away from the tower. Elizabeth had screamed as she flew toward the edge, just barely managing to grasp the cool metal of the railing, just barely saving her own life. Her arms burned and her fingers ached, but she fought off the pain and panic until she was on solid ground once more.

Assassination. She may be on solid ground, but someone had tried to kill her. Elizabeth rubbed her sore shoulders. She spent so much time worrying about everyone else that it never occurred to her to worry about her own well-being. But even if she had – these people here in Atlantis were a _family _to her. Who here would want to kill her?

She wrapped her arms around herself, sending a fleeting glance to the door that led outside. During the forty-eight hours she'd spent in the infirmary, samples had been taken and the debris had been cleared. Before sitting down, she'd taken a quick look outside. All that was left was a jagged slab of metal and tape serving as a temporary banister. Elizabeth had immediately ducked back into her office, not quite ready to deal with the loss of her sanctuary.

"Elizabeth?"

She looked up to see Rodney hovering at her doorway, twisting his hands nervously. Stubbornly, she pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind and flashed a smile to him.

"Come on in, Rodney," she said warmly, and he did so, pacing for a moment before looking at her, clasping his hands together.

"Are you all right?" Months ago, his startlingly direct gaze would've fazed her, but she'd grown used to his blunt, linear manner. She'd even come to appreciate it, savoring the lack of sugar-tongued lies that were so common everywhere else.

"I'm fine," Elizabeth told him. Her eyes picked up on the slight movement as Rodney tapped his thumb against the back of his other hand, and she knew enough of his quirks to know that he didn't believe her. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose while she tried to get a clear understanding of her own emotions to answer his question truthfully. "I'm…overwhelmed," she said, looking up to meet his gaze directly.

"Mmm," he assessed, "my first time was like that too." As if it was the norm and she knew what he was talking about. But that was McKay. Everyone was always playing catch-up, even Elizabeth.

"First time what?"

"Almost dying," Rodney replied, sending her a look as if to say "what else?".

She would've laughed if she wasn't so shaken up over the whole thing. Her eyes caught sight of the security guards passing by her door, and nerves suddenly welled up in her. She stood up to ease her rolling stomach.

"Radek's going through the samples we collected," Rodney said suddenly, unsure how to comfort her.

Elizabeth smiled weakly. "Thank you," she told him, understanding what he was trying to do. "I just can't -" she cut herself off, but at Rodney's inquiring stare, continued again. "Someone tried to kill me," she said finally, articulating each of her words carefully. "Someone here, on Atlantis. I just can't imagine anyone…" she trailed off, unable to continue. Elizabeth's eyes settled on the glass wall. "They're my family, Rodney, my -" her voice cracked. Tears blurred her eyes, and she felt utterly incapable.

"'Lizibeth…" Rodney looked at her with a mixture of panic and sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Rodney, I just…" she feebly attempted to blink away the tears in her eyes, but all that kept coming to her were names of people, of her friends; potential names of the would-be assassin.

Tentatively, Rodney stepped closer to her and hugged her. It was a situation that he was unused to, and it infinitively relieved him when she leaned against him, giving in to his embrace.

Face pressed against his shirt, arms wrapped around his torso, Elizabeth finally let go; finally let someone else hold her up. And never in that moment had it ever been clearer to her – she loved Rodney McKay. Not just the I-want-to-be-with-you kind of love, but the insane kind too, the kind that melted through her mind and leaked into every crevice of her life. It was the kind of love that was nearly psychosis – how her heart skipped a beat at his touch, the long amounts of time he occupied her thoughts, the worry for him when he was hurt, the insane want to be with him every second of the day…

But nothing else had ever made her happier. And that in itself gave her the courage to do something she'd envisioned doing a hundred times over. She lifted her head and gazed into his clear, questioning eyes for a long moment before kissing him.

This was going to change everything, Elizabeth knew, as his warm lips responded, his hand cupping her cheek.

She'd never been so excited for a change.

---

_the end_


End file.
